Clouds over Planet X

Summary

Alan, an alien with extraordinary mental powers, has lived among us since the 1940s. Thankfully, Alan likes earthlings. Which is fortunate, because the Mantis are back in a savage plague of ravenous destruction, hell bent on destroying Earth once and for all. Alan joins forces with the Cloud brothers and a handful of humans with emerging mind powers. Can they stop the Mantis destroying the Earth?

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Clouds over Planet X - James Field

'Our days are numbered,' said Klook, telepathically. 'Are you ready for your last adventure?'

Yon smiled, a disfiguring muscle cramp rare among their race. After one thousand years of existence, he had two choices: either terminate his life within the next few months, or grow old naturally as an exile. The decision had been easy. He wasn't ready to die. 'I am prepared. My studies are complete. I have established the source of our origins.'

'And you think we head for the solar system of our roots?'

'Yes, I am positive.'

Klook marvelled at his friend's conviction. What made him so sure? Data from exploratory probes showed billions of habitable planets. What made him think this particular planet was their ancestor's origin?

Banishment wasn't the only price for prolonged age. The splint inserter, in the shape of a bulky door frame, would deprive them of all meta-functions as they passed.

'Are you nervous?' said Klook.

'Of course, in a moment we shall be reduced to communicating with vocal cords.'

Yon glanced along the sterile corridor. They were so close he could see the splint inserter clearly. He watched a man standing motionless in the frame. The man's bald head glistened as a soft light flashed. A peep sounded, and he stepped out. Yon wished he could observe the man's face, to see if it was as blank and expressionless as his newly suppressed mind. The next in line stepped into the frame.

'Let us talk about something more pleasant,' said Klook. 'Tell me why you think this planet is the seat of our origins.'

'I have no evidence. I have merely studied the myths and legends.'

'I know some of these myths; a Garden of Eden, third planet from a minor Sun in a system of nine major planets.'

'I have found that planet.'

'But there are thousands that meet those criteria in this galaxy alone.'

'Ah, Klook, you doubt me, even though you know I have devoted hundreds of years to my search. Of all the possibilities, my intuition keeps returning to that planet.'

'Your powers are magnificent.' Klook had always admired Yon's sixth-sense. It was a shame; in a few minutes, they would both lose their mental powers.

The splint inserter drew close. Yon tried to ignore it. 'Did you know one year on that planet equals one of our own?'

'No, I am unaware of the details. Is this simple fact the basis for your certainty?'

'No, but it is an amazing coincidence. Measured by our time or theirs, we have lived one thousand years. What an unfortunate development we must grow old.'

'If you could, would you live forever?'

Yon couldn't lie, a behaviour encoded in his genes. None of his race could lie. 'Yes, the way I feel today, I could live forever.' He glanced at his friend. 'So tell me, why have you chosen this path?'

'To look after you, dear friend.'

'Not because you were selected as leader?'

'That too.'

Yon reached the splinter inserter, drew a breath, and entered. He stiffened as he waited. Two short peeps told him the splint was inserted and functional. He stepped to the other side and waited for his friend. They strode the final few steps towards the waiting spaceship.

'How do you feel?' asked Klook, forced to use audible speech.

'Blind. My meta-functions have almost vanished. It is like looking at the world through a pinhole.'

The spaceship was nothing more than an ugly black sausage. Neither man minded. Why waste resources on a spaceship designed to self-destruct after their one-way trip? Yon followed Klook inside and squeezed between rows of cramped seats until he reached the basic control panel. He sat. Klook dropped by his side and wriggled on the hard bench, trying to make himself comfortable. They didn't mind the miserable conditions. The journey would only last the blink of an eye.

Klook flipped a few old-fashioned switches and grabbed a joystick in each hand. A moment's doubt made him glance at Yon. His friend still looked like an eighteen-year-old, full of health and vigour, his hairless pink skin without wrinkle or blemish. After so many years of physical peak condition, he wondered how they would cope with a body that withered and grew weak. Life aboard their enormous space vessel had been secure and comfortable, and the prospect of unaccustomed hardship on this final adventure made him apprehensive. Perhaps they should stay and die with dignity; at least they wouldn't have to abandon their mental abilities.

Yon met his eye and saw the hesitation. Without telepathy, it was hard to know what his friend thought. It was too late; the spaceship was already gliding away from their artificial world and entering deep space.

Klook concentrated, preparing himself for the one-way journey across the galaxy. A moment's blackness made him blink. Normal space returned and he took manual control. All around, he heard mutterings of wonder.

'Here is your planet,' said Klook. 'I congratulate you. It is magnificent.' He waited while his instruments finished their scan, confirming the exploration probe's data. 'The atmosphere has slightly less oxygen than ours. We would find it a strain to breathe.'

Yon pressed his face against a small round window. He saw white clouds, blue oceans, green continents, ice capped poles, and pricks of light on the dark side suggesting intelligent life.

'The planet teams with life,' said Yon. 'Primitive creatures akin to us are the dominant species. They have yet to develop space travel but manage to fly through the atmosphere in crude winged vehicles.'

Conversation stopped, all ears and eyes strained to digest the data. If they still had their mental abilities, the information would have filtered through their minds in a twinkle.

Klook gazed at his friend and spoke softly. 'This cannot be the planet of our origin. The natives are too primitive.'

Yon slumped back into his chair, frustrated his meta-functions were suppressed to the point of non-existence. On his survey trips he'd devoted weeks mind-reading the primitive creatures. Now, with only his five physical senses remaining, he felt mentally retarded. His intuition had never failed; the creatures appeared primitive, but they were ancient, as old as his own ancestors. Somehow or another they were distant cousins, he knew it.

'Cheer up, friend,' said Klook, 'you have directed us to a magnificent planet. Tell us what else you have learnt about these creatures?' He glanced over his shoulder. The other two hundred passengers listened eagerly.

'Physically, they are taller, stronger, and hairier than us. Their eyes can be grey, green, blue, brown–most colours, but not purple like ours. They still have the remnants of claws on their fingers and toes, their mouths are full of teeth, and their stomachs digest meat. The females give birth to fully formed infants of both sexes.'

'Disgusting,' said Klook, 'your creatures are little more than wild animals.'

'Yes, but their meta-abilities are on the verge of budding. When grouped together, their assembled coercion is enough to make a difference. A few individuals have developed mild telekinesis abilities and others have intuition bordering on telepathy.'

Klook read his instruments. Temperature, gravity, vegetation, the yellow Sun's radiation, everything was adequate for supporting their own life. 'And what of their social habits?'

Yon's posture sagged. 'Violence and disease are normal, they die early, seldom reaching ages much above eighty. Almost without exception, they die painfully, killed by war, or crime, or sickness.'

Klook thought he'd misheard, or misunderstood his friend's statement. With only five senses remaining, misunderstandings would now be common. 'We must leave this planet and continue to our final destination.'

Yon had lived for this moment so many years he couldn't simply turn away. Like all his generation, he'd never set foot on a real planet's surface. Now, in his terminal years, he wanted to walk barefoot on grubby soil and experience authentic weather against his skin. He wanted to breathe real air and drink real water. His intuition had told him the creatures occupying this planet were distant cousins, now he wanted to meet his ancestral kin face-to-face. 'I wish to remain,' he said. 'I wish to live on the planet's surface until my dying days.'

All eyes stared at Yon, nobody understood why he wanted to throw away his remaining years in such a pointless manner.

'My friend,' said Klook, 'it is forbidden. Besides, you cannot survive on this planet. Without meta-functions your body's immune system is incapable of resisting virus and infection. Your life will be agonising and short.'

'I am resolved.'

'Reconsider, these creatures will kill you simply to steal your coat.'

'Then I shall go naked.'

'Without a spacesuit you will die of exposure.'

'I must follow my conviction. No more delays, I wish to remain.'

Klook couldn't understand his friend's logic, but Yon had always been special. Some radical psychologists even contended he showed traces of emotion.

'Very well, my stubborn friend, if that is your final wish I shall assist you, even though we break our strictest rule. Is there anywhere in particular you have in mind?'

'Yes, set me down in a remote part of a country the natives call England. It is one of the more civilised nations, small but technically advanced.'

Klook had no idea where England was. 'Here, take the controls.'

The spaceship dropped to the planet's surface in less time than it took to draw a breath.

'Will you change your mind?' said Klook.

Shaking his head, Yon made for the exit. Hands reached out as he passed, brushing him with age-old wishes of good fortune. The port opened and he leant into the forcefield, pushing the syrupy resistance aside. It solidified behind him, blocking contamination and any opportunity to return to the spaceship.

Cold, clammy air claimed him. For the first time in his one thousand years, his body shivered. The sensation hurt. Realising his folly, he turned, but his friends had already departed. Stones bruised his bare feet as he hopped from one foot to the other. He toppled; more stones cut his delicate palms and knees. He gazed at his blood, gagged, and fainted.

Hot sunshine stroked him awake, he faced the warmth, basking in radiation he'd never before experienced. He knew his pink skin would soon burn, but the sensation was so vitalising he ignored the danger. A bird landed on a fence by his side. Holding his breath, Yon held out his hand. The bird flapped away squawking.

His skin began to sting, his hands and knees throbbed, and his sense of survival told him he needed shelter. He saw a group of buildings in the distance and wondered how he could reach them before exposure killed him. Using the fence for support, he pulled himself up.

The high fence didn't lead all the way to the buildings; it veered off at right angles, forming a large enclosure. He was on the muddy, stony inside. His hands and feet hurt so badly he doubted he could climb over. Soft grass grew beneath the fence, carpeting his feet, so he stepped gingerly towards the buildings, hugging the rough woodwork, hoping he might get close enough to call for help.

A horse and her foal trotted towards the stranger in their pen. The foal had already learnt that contact with people could mean a titbit and approached Yon without fear. The horse stopped short, unsure of the stranger's intents, fearful for her foal's safety. She snorted, arched her back, and gouged the ground with her front hooves.

Without his meta-functions, Yon didn't recognise the danger and reached out his empty hand to the foal. Disappointed, the foal spun and ran. Enraged, the horse charged.

A hoof struck Yon on the side of his head, sending him spinning to the ground. As blackness engulfed him, his passing thought was how short and futile his final days had been.

Chapter 2. Alan

Yon's eyes fluttered open. He saw three people; one dressed in black, one dressed in blue, and one dressed in white. He tried to raise his arm, to feel his head.

'Please don't move,' said the female dressed in white. She held a glass tube with a long needle protruding from one end. Before Yon could react, she thrust the needle into his arm and squeezed the plunger.

'Thank you, nurse,' said the man dressed in black. 'Ah, he's awake. Hello, young man, you're lucky to be alive. Don't be alarmed, that was a tetanus inoculation, the forefront of modern medicine. You'll be fine now.'

'Should I take a blood sample, doctor?'

'Good idea, nurse, best take three.'

Nurse let her gaze linger on the doctor. She especially liked the way his Brylcreemed hair formed a perfect wave across his brow, and the scent of Old Spice aftershave gave her goose bumps. Remembering her duties, she plunged another needle into Yon's other arm, pulling the plunger this time. 'He's fainted again,' she said, 'should we take him to hospital?'

The doctor turned to a man and woman waiting in the shadows. 'What do you good people say? Can he stay here a few days?'

The woman curtsied. 'Yes, doctor, our sons joined the war so we've got room.' She hesitated a moment. 'If the police constable thinks it's safe.'

The man dressed in blue saluted, touching the peak of his helmet with one finger. 'I'll have a word with him, ma'am, as soon as the doctor's finished. But I don't think he's dangerous, he's only a lad. And don't you worry none about your own boys, we'll soon have that Hitler ruffian sorted out.'

'Good,' said the doctor, snapping his black bag shut. 'No need for the hospital, nurse, you can pop in once a day to change his bandages. He'll be fine.'

Yon roused. Of all his pains, his splitting headache troubled him most. He couldn't focus his thoughts, or his eyes; and his ears whistled so loudly it muffled every other sound. He felt a hand pull his jaw open and two pills were thrown in, followed by a glassful of water. The hand pressed his mouth shut and fingers pinched his nose. He swallowed and coughed.

'Aspirin,' explained the doctor. 'You've had rather a nasty bash on the head. A small piece of bone has been chipped away from your skull and the little finger of your left hand is broken. You might suffer from concussion for a few days, but you haven't lost much blood and your bones will heal soon enough. I'll come back in a week to remove your stitches. Right, that's it, I must be off.'

Yon hadn't realised about the broken finger, his bashed skull hurt too much to notice. Oddly, the pain storming around inside his head was more than physical. His psyche throbbed in strife and uproar.

'Now then,' said the policeman, stepping closer, 'supposing you tell me what your name is so we can inform your loved ones.'

'Yon.'

The policeman bent closer. 'Come again, try to speak up.'

'Yon.'

'Is that with a d?'

Yon tried to shake his head.

The policeman tapped his notepad with his pencil. 'Funny sort of name you've got there. Yond… Ah, Bond! Is that what you're trying to say, Bond?'

Yon closed his eyes. The man was stupid.

'Right you are, Master Bond. Mind telling us where you've come from?'

'I'm an alien.'

'Eh, what?'

'Alien.'

'Oh, yes, got you this time, Alan. That's your first name, right? Master Alan Bond, good English name, now we're getting somewhere.'

Alan Bond, thought Yon. Why not?

'How old are you, Alan, twelve, thirteen? Can't be much older by the size of you. Can't see any fluff on your chin either.'

'One-thousand years.'

The police constable put on his stern expression, the one he used when he caught boys playing truant. 'Now then, Master Alan, let's not have any cheek. I want proper answers.' He turned and winked to the woman. 'And while we're at it, what were you doing in Mr Gorgon's horse pen naked as the day you were born?'

'The name's Gordon,' said the woman, 'Mister and missus Gordon.' She patted her short dark hair in place and straightened her hastily changed dress with a touch of pride and self-conscious discomfort. Proud, because she'd sown the dress herself, large colourful roses printed on white cotton. Self-conscious, because she usually wore heavy denim shirt and overalls, practical attire, suitable for farm work.

The policeman removed his helmet, hung it on a bed post, and scratched his head. 'Right you are, ma'am. Got that, Mr and Mrs Gordon. My apologies.'

'That'll do,' said the doctor, growing impatient. In his professional opinion he didn't think the policeman was deaf, just incredibly slow witted. 'The boy's tired, let him rest.'

'Very well, I haven't much to go on, but I've got a name and he's some sort of albino. Shouldn't be hard to find.'

The policeman was friendly, Alan could feel it. Not only could he feel it, but he could read it in his mind. The policeman felt sorry for him and wanted to help…

He could read the policeman's mind!

Alan held his breath as he grasped the implications. The piece of bone chipped away from his cranium was the same piece that held the meta-suppressing splinter. Gradually, like a gentle breeze whisking away the fog, he realised his full range of meta-functions were restored.

Troubled sensations from the whole planet suddenly swamped him; fear, heartbreak, deception, retaliation, envy, anger… emotions so foreign and fierce they tore at his sanity. Thankfully, he also sensed compassion from those standing near. Blocking his pains and woes as best as he could, he snuggled into the soft bed and tried to relax. In all his one-thousand years of sterile existence he'd never experienced anything so warm and comforting as crisp sheets and heavy woollen blankets. 'Were you talking to me?' he asked, drawing everyone's attention.

They all stared at him.

Alan raised his hand and touched the dressing wrapped around his head. His fingers now had nails. Mousey coloured hair sprouted from under his head bandage, and a four-day growth of fluffy down covered his chin. He opened his blue eyes, a young man in his early teens.

The group blinked.

'Be careful with your bandage,' said the doctor.

The policeman examined his notes, scratched his chin with his pencil, and drew a line through his description. He glared at Alan, shook his